True Magic
by NightWithMoon
Summary: Abandoned. What happens when it seems Voldemort wins and Harry is left seemingly soulless by the Dementor's Kiss? An adventure with powerful soul magics that no one truly understands. probably no ships in this story & little to no gory violence. Abandoned.
1. Prologue

Prologue

Originally Tom had believed the prophesy meant he had to personally defeat the boy to be invincible. However, it did not take long for Tom to discover what precisely the boy's mother had done and what it meant for himself.

Lily Potter nee Evans had always been an inordinately talented and powerful witch and when she learned of the possible fate of her son she set about to protect her son as best she could. She found her answer in an ancient and powerful magic that survived to this day only in myths, legends, and the wild imaginings of wizards and witches so entrenched in the theory of magic that they could understand little else. And being the intuitive and brilliant witch she was, she somehow managed to make it work for her son. Tom theorized himself that the reason the magic died out was because it came from a time when the human species itself was less intelligent and driven by their instincts and subconscious'- the two parts of the being closest to the soul, which was itself the source and power for this magic. He thought that it must have been the fact that he attacked when the child was so young, awakening the mother's instinct to protect that is so powerful, particularly when the child is young, that allowed Lily Potter to power the magic with her own soul that would forever protect her son.

This was such a powerful magic because it took the entire magical power of the being in question and tied it to the being's soul which is stripped of everything but a single purpose that it could adapt in any way possible to fulfill. In this case the purpose was to completely protect her son from Tom Marvolo Riddle, which incredibly encompassed anyone Riddle commanded, directed, or manipulated into trying to harm the boy. It was not perfect but it was powerful enough to affect events nearly everywhere in little, and sometimes not so little, ways to protect the boy.

With this knowledge came the realization that Riddle must try to distance himself from his actions to kill the boy as much as was possible, and that he must avoid direct confrontations with him as he could not predict how the essence that was Lily Potter would react.

Eventually he came to the conclusion that the best way to defeat his possible downfall would be to make the entire wizarding world believe the boy guilty of such a heinous crime that they would act to end him. It was not a coincidence that if he succeeded the boy would be sentenced to the Dementor's Kiss an act and attack supremely suited to destroying soul based magic as the creatures themselves were known to feed upon them.

**November 3****rd**** 1996**

**Vigilante Killing Death Eaters**

Last Tuesday Ministry Aurors discovered a scene of true horror in the manor of late Nott senior. The Aurors arrived on scene after the Dark Sensors, that the Ministry has only just recently able to place all around the country in wizarding and muggle cities, detected something at the site. "These sensors, are only capable of picking up the very most powerful of disturbances in the magical flow of the world, especially when in this case the magic was performed behind wards specifically designed to hide such magic from detection." Says Ministry auror Dawlish. The Aurors have only just now finished analyzing their finds and released them to the public, almost six days more slowly than is standard. When questioned as to the delay Dawlish says that "It took so long because we had to piece the bodies back together again without magic to avoid triggering any lingering dark curses and to identify the subjects." At my look of horror and question as to why they expected dark curses on the bodies Auror Dawlish responded, "We didn't expect curses on the bodies, that is how Curtis Flemmings died." Curtis Flemmings, an auror who arrived with the original team at Manor Nott. Once this reported gathered herself, and she has no trouble admitting that at this point that took a great deal of effort, she asked one final question, if you say you had to piece the bodies back together again to get an identification and to determine the exact number killed how was it that you were able to release to the public less than an hour after arriving on scene the correct number of 12 dead? "When the Aurors arrived the first thing they saw, lying out in the greeting hall, lined up one next to the other were a dozen left forearms, all bearing the Dark Mark." While I cannot deny I am glad to know there are twelve less Death Eaters I need fear in the night this reporter is horrified that someone would go to such depths of dark magic to fight them.

**December 17****th**

**The Dark Slayer Continues his Vigilante Killing Spree, 13 Found Dead**

**January 2****nd**

**Dark Slayer Slaughters Aurors to Escape Scene of the Crime**

**February 15****th**

**Dark Slayer Caught in the Act, Identity revealed- THE BOY WHO LIVED?**

THE wizarding public is reeling after the discovery of the Boy-who-Lived behind the black mask of the Dark Slayer who has killed so many, both Auror and Death Eater with magic darker than any seen since the darkest days of the first war…

**February 29****th**

**Dark Slayer-Boy Who Lived Sentenced to the Dementor's Kiss**

After weeks of court battles and struggles it seems every piece of evidence has been analyzed and none of it in the favor of the boy once proclaimed as the savior of wizarding Britain. Albus Dumbledore, known to have been fond of the boy and to protect him in the past is at a loss, "I could not believe it of him, I still cannot, but I have searched through every nook and cranny of my mind and even those of some of my students for any evidence or way to prove his innocence and have found only incriminating evidence." After exhausting every other avenue Albus Dumbledore convinced the court to administer Veritaserum, a truth serum so powerful and dangerous it is not normally permitted on underage witches or wizards, to prove the boy's claims of innocence. Although Dumbledore was initially against its use in the beginning because, "the boys mind contains secrets of this war not safe to expose the public to," he had since spun full circle, and placed all his hopes upon what he and everyone else saw as the last hope to prove the once-savior of wizarding Britain's innocence. The truth brought out by the serum paints a bleaker picture than even we had hoped, and did little to aid in the boy's case. With the boys own admission of trying to live up to the expectation placed upon his shoulders, not only by the wizarding public, but also by his mentor and headmaster and a prophesy not previously public knowledge, the mediwizards asked to attend, in case of complications due to the serum, suggested that the boy had cracked and gone, if not totally, then partially insane under the pressure placed upon him and had sought any and all means possible to fulfill them. Even with this evidence and the prophesy it was decided that the boy was to powerful to be restrained and treated at any medical facility, and again too powerful to go without some permanent solution to the threat he poses, "Despite how is pains us to say it, we cannot allow him to defeat He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named only to replace him and be all the worse for it." Eventually, against the pleas, attempted bargains, and machinations of the boy's friends and mentor, the court has decided that the Dementor's Kiss is the kindest and most permanent end they can seek without outright killing the boy, which is illegal due to his underage status. Many suggest that death would be kinder. Although it is cruel to say it at this point we are awaiting notification as to either his suicide or the destruction of his soul. This reporter cannot help but have her heart go out to the child that faced with such opposition could not continue and fell deeper than he could be retrieved from and now must pay the ultimate price.

XxXxXWYWXxXxX

Not many people realize what happens after one is Kissed by a Dementor, few are curious enough to find out and most merely assume that the body is permitted to wither and die. This is not so, for the body represents the perfect opportunity for experimentation and study, for even though they have been around since the beginning of time little is understood of either souls or Dementors. Also a body without a soul is physically and magically identical to one with a soul, it is merely incapable of independent and intelligent thought, as the soul is the true container and source of all emotions, memories, and impulses. Thus all that is left is the living body, innate magic, and the instincts of the body; the perfect subject for any experiment or test too dangerous or mysterious for a real person. This practice, although not particularly nice, is acknowledged as moral as it has been proven that the body resulting from the Dementor's Kiss is in fact identity-less and that its condition never changes, no matter how long the body is sustained or what stimulus it is presented with. Indeed the Kiss destroys everything that is unique to a person leaving only the material and magical aspects unmarred.

Thus it was that every living subject of the Dementor's Kiss found itself in a large series of rooms and facilities within the Department of Mysteries where they provided the much needed resource of raw material for the experiments done there.

It was there that the body that was once recognized as the container for the person Harry James Potter was left. Only, unlike every other body there this particular one still contained a small sliver of a soul; approximately one seventh of a soul.

A Dementor is not, as many believe, a magical creature, it is instead a magical construct. Designed to tear a single soul from a body and to twist it and direct it to contain the magic itself and drive a single body- a body which the magic abandons when it becomes too used. Often to be replaced by the body of one of the victims. Thus the only thing constant to a Dementor is the magic which will pick up new souls and discard the old twisted and useless souls of its previous victim, just as it will discard the old and twisted remains of the bodies it directs and uses. A Dementor can only contain a single soul at a time and the less twisted, in other words the "fresher," the soul the more powerful it is, thus every time a Dementor feeds it discards the old soul and uses the most recent, temporarily making that particular Dementor considerably more powerful than its companions.

Thus when the Dementor was placed before the body of Harry James Potter it found itself confronted by not one soul but two and a fragment of a third. The Dementor cannot, however, detect the presence of a soul only the emotions it gives off so it was not aware of the strange circumstances that surrounded this particular person. When the Dementor Kissed Harry James Potter the soul and magic of Lily Potter acted, as it could not permit its charge to be killed, even if this time the threat did not come directly from Riddle. The result was that the magic that once belonged to Lily Potter dispersed, as is normal at death, when her soul, the fragment of Tom Riddle's soul and the majority of Harry's own soul were consumed all at once by the Dementor. Those who witnessed it saw nothing out of the ordinary, and the body containing a small sliver of Harry's soul showed no sign that it was not the soulless vessel it should have been, as the small sliver of the soul within fell dormant, just as a Horcrux would, because the majority and most powerful portion of the soul was elsewhere – within the Dementor.


	2. Chapter One

A/N I will always try to avoid author's notes as it is rather annoying to have to search for the actual story. Also if the story isn't clear enough that it needs notes to make it understandable then that's a sign the story needs changing… so for the first chapter I will be setting down some base rules and whatnot for my story, but for the rest my notes should be very short. I have about a million ideas (some truly amazing, and some truly not; some truly original, and some completely and utterly not) so depending on how good of a response this story gets I will probably incorporate more of my good ideas (if it doesn't look like it is going anywhere I'll keep my best ideas for a better attempt later). Along that line I welcome any and all reviews, especially if there is something that the story doesn't make clear or doesn't jive properly. Also if you see anything here that you think is familiar, that is probably because it is. I won't take time to outline in every author who inspired what thought/idea because that would take far too long. So just be aware that not all these Ideas are unique or original to me, but this combination and presentation of them is…

Also I have spent a large portion of the last few weeks regretting starting this because I don't want to have little dinky chapters, but I realized that I was holding off posting it because I didn't think it was wordy enough… so I have decided that this story will be precisely as long as it is and I have no idea how long that is…

I will endeavor to respond to everyone who reviews (if you have any sort of question, if it is merely a statement or series of statements, then thank you for your advice), but I will do so privately so as not to take up space in the chapter. I think that's all for now. Enjoy!

Chapter One

Kingsley Shacklebolt was a very calm and collected man, always in control of his smooth actions and soothing calm, deep voice. So he knew that he had no desire to reach across the desk and strangle the man that was sitting smugly there, none at all. Thus it was that he did not, in any way, sigh in relief when he was called back to the Auror office; he was also not thinking of a small, beat up pen that had spent a great deal of time transfigured as the same man he was now leaving, so as to be able to receive the treatment he did not, at all, feel the desire to inflict upon the minister. A pen that was, even now, sitting waiting on the edge of his desk.

When Kingsley returned to the offices he was greeted gruffly by his immediate supervisor, Aurelia Abbott, "Good, Kingsley take any three men you can find that don't look busy enough and head down to the Department of Mysteries. I have a memo on my desk that 'Requests the unrefined brutality and strength of the Auror Department to make itself available to the esteemed Unspeakables, under the authority of the Minister of Magic…' just means they have some issue their too weak to deal with." She scoffed, even as she moved away, her mind turning to other issues as her orders had been given not even waiting for acknowledgement from Shacklebolt.

As no one was watching, Kingsley sighed as he looked toward his office longingly, almost imagining that he could see his pen sitting there waiting for him. If there were anyone that could try his patience it would be the Unspeakables. He turned on his heel and stalked out of the office calling out names of the three strongest Aurors currently on duty, barely bothering to conceal his own frustration.

Jimmy Burlowwe, Jessica Fattimius, and Alexander Greggor all caught up with him just before he boarded the lift that would take them down to the lower levels of the ministry. "What's this about then?" Barlowwe asked cheekily.

"They finally discovered a potion that can cure you of your insufferable attitude. We're headed to the Department of Mysteries to get it now." Was Kingsley's only reply as he pushed the button for the ninth floor and the grate slid shut with a clang.

Jessica's eyes lit up, she hadn't before had the "honor" of visiting the Unspeakables in their own territory and was still too intrigued by the mystery to be put off. "Ooh, what happened down there now? Did they accidentally crash Jupiter into Mars again?"

"It was Venus into Mars, and no I don't know why were needed. Now shut up and pretend you're not interested or they'll lap it up and be even more high and mighty when we get there." It had been a while since he had lost his temper badly enough to tell someone to bluntly shut up, his thoughts turned back to his pen, regretting that he hadn't had time to "file some reports" when he had gotten back to the office.

He ignored the strange looks his outburst had garnered as they arrived at the ninth floor and the lifts again clanked open and he lead them to the entrance to the Department of Mysteries. They stepped into the circular room and stood at the center, the Unspeakables would know the instant they entered the department and if they tried to get through any of the doors without a "guide" they would probably be jinxed, hexed, and cursed three ways from Friday before they had time to react. So they waited. And waited.

"Should we perhaps come back at a better time?" Jessica asked slightly timidly.

Just before Kingsley opened his mouth to reply the door directly across from him opened and an Unspeakable stepped in. He rolled his eyes, knowing he had probably been waiting on the other side of the door just for someone to ask that question.

"I see the Auror Department has finally seen fit to attend to their duties to the Ministry." The man sneered his face and voice distorted by some spell. "This way, we can't have you wasting any more of our time." As if they were the ones to have kept the man waiting. He spun on his heel and stalked back out the door he had entered by, not giving the Aurors a chance to reply. Kingsley shot Jessica a quelling look and she shut her mouth and fell into line as they followed the Unspeakable.

After being lead through a dizzying series of rooms, halls, courtyards, and storage rooms that Kingsley knew if he tried too hard to remember would leave him with a massive headache and even more confused, they arrived at what seemed to be their destination. They stood grouped around a door that's edges were blackened and still held the smell of smoke despite the obvious signs of air freshening and cleaning charms being used liberally.

"You have been brought here to contain a mess created when several active potions were mixed inadvisably. Touch nothing not necessary and ask no questions, you will be monitored the entire time." Without further ado the Unspeakable turned the handle of the door and pushed it open, stepping to the side to allow them a clear view of the room beyond.

The room was long and thin with a high ceiling, stretching away from them for what seemed at least a kilometer, beds with unconscious occupants were spaced every few meters along one wall. Kingsley barely spared the occupants of the beds a second look as what captured his attention was a goopy multicolored mess that had spread across the floor of entranceway of the room. The floor around what was presumably the mixture of potions was blackened as the door had been and the entire mess reeked with a foul smell.

"Don't touch it and don't get any closer until we can get a good idea of the magic involved. Understood?" Kinglsey's command was met with a brief flurry acknowledgements from the other Aurors. "Good. Bubblehead charms as well I think." After quickly conjuring the necessary bubble around his own head with a slight variation to the spell that made the bubble flat in front of his eyes so that it did not distort his view of the world, Kingsley began whispering the long incantation of the Plutionian Revelations spell, the most powerful magic trace revealing spell that did not require a sacrifice or a ritual. Even so he had to pause and catch his breath after the draining effects of the spell. What the spell revealed on the other hand was far more surprising. Kingsley had expected something like an accidental mixture of Veritaserum and Polyjuice, a notoriously dangerous and powerful combination, what the spell revealed instead were dozens of separate signatures that had melded and mixed in such a dizzying pattern that the most renowned Gringotts curse breakers and hex crackers probably would have wept at the sight. Kingsley looked to the Unspeakable incredulously, "How many potions mixed exactly and what were they?"

If the man was at all uncomfortable under the four amazed and surprised gazes of the four Aurors he didn't show it. "There were approximately 40 potions vials on the cart that was spilled, all of the potions were different and experimental, and none had yet been named."

Kingsley turned back to watch the potions as the magical trace that his spell had revealed began to fade from sight. In fact now that he looked closer he thought he could see the twisted and melted remains of what had to have once been the cart that had held the potions, mixed in and amongst the other potions, almost like a silvery potion itself.

Kingsley continued to study the congealed potions mess even after the affects of the revealing spell had completely faded, ignoring the impatience of the other four present. Even as he watched he saw the potion pulse and undulate just slightly in an odd and creepily lifelike manner. "Very well. We'll need a four point Collapsible Contagion Cage to force the magical lattice to shatter and expel the contained power." He looked up to see the other Aurors glancing at each other slightly surprised and a little fearfully. "Jimm and Jessica, I'm going to levitate you over the mess while Greggor puts a standard shield between you and that mess should the potion react to the levitation charm. Once you're on the other side, and a good distance away, I want you to each set up a corner of the base of the pyramid. Greggor will get the top as he is tallest and can reach it without needing to levitate, and I'll get the corner in the hall. Understood?" They all nodded, neither Jimm nor Jessica looking too pleased about having to be levitated.

Kingsley looked at Jessica "On the count of three?" She nodded. "One… Two… Three,_ Domi Servi Gravitum_." Jessica slowly lifted off the floor and began to float over the threshold and potions mess, as close to the ceiling as Kingsley could put her without her hitting it. Below her the barely visible shimmer of Greggor's shield above the potion showed no reaction. They all pretended not to notice each other's sighs of relief or the fact that the Unspeakable was only now stepping closer after having retreated down the hall a ways. Casting a revealing spell or bubble head charm were relatively safe as revealing spells were designed not to affect or be affected by and ambient magic and bubble head charms performed on one's self was magic that went no farther than the bubble, and that bubble was by its very nature meant to contain and protect. The levitation charm on the other hand was a spell that could only be cast on another object and therefore must bleed of some magic into the surrounding area, also it was a spell that temporarily and locally slaved gravity to the will of the caster meaning it was affecting a force that affected the potion as well. That the potion hadn't reacted to either Greggor's shield or the levitation charm was a good sign, as it either meant the potion was a great deal of contained and inert magical power or that whatever trigger the potion was waiting for was not in either spell.

Once Both Jimm and Jessica were on the other side and in position to start the spell –forming a rough triangle with Kingsley, in the doorway, as the third point and Greggor's outstretched arm and wand above the potion as the tip of the pyramid.

"On three again… One… Two… Three!" They each began a slightly varied form of the spells chant, the variations accounting for their own natural magical difference and allowing three magically unique individuals to weave their magic together into and extremely strong containment shield. The shield shone with a shimmering deep blue light that was in fact rather beautiful and began to slowly contract around the puddle on the ground.

At first there was no reaction and the potion was merely pushed towards the center of the pyramid filling it up as if the shield's sides were solid walls, then there was an arcing teal line that twisted across the inside surface of the shield like some sort of electrical charge trying to free itself. Whatever it was wasn't strong enough to harm the shield, in fact Kingsley barely felt the added strain as the shield began to drain slightly more energy from each of the four holders. Unfortunately whatever that reaction had been had only started what seemed to be a dozen others; the spark that started the forest fire, as it would seem. Various flashes of color and light, some omni-directional and pulsing, others similar to the first in electric like aspect of its motion began to spill forth from the now frothing potion in the still shrinking containment field.

Kingsley broke out in a sweat and his wand arm shook slightly as he desperately continued chanting the spell to maintain the shield despite the exhausting draining effect it was having on him and the sudden urge to wipe of a bead of ticklish sweat from his brow. The shield continued to compress the potion and its magic over the next few minutes, by that time all of the Aurors were sweating and gasping for breath as they continued to chant and the potion still hadn't reached critical magic compression yet.

When it finally did there was a blinding flash of light and heat even the shield couldn't contain and Kingsley felt like he had again placed his finger into one of those muggle electrical socks, except exponentially worse as it spread up from his wand. When he could see again he saw the burnt floor clear of all trace of the potion and thin streams of smoke trailing from four wands, two of which had been dropped when their owners had collapsed.

Kingsley staggered over to Jessica making sure she was fine and just collecting herself as he pushed his own exhaustion down. Assured that no one was too dangerously drained by the spell he moved past the other Aurors to a black crystal that seemed to be growing from the wall.

The Unspeakable who had not once offered any sort of assistance or comment up to this point rushed forward. "You mustn't Auror Shacklebolt, that information cannot move beyond these halls."

Kingsley ignored him triggering the magical playback on the magical security recorder on the wall. "I want to know what the hell you just had us deal with. No forty potions, no matter how well brewed, should have been able to coexist no matter how shortly, and no potion ingredients no matter how potent should have drained us so thoroughly.

Even as he spoke the recorder hummed to life and glowed a soft white as a ghostly shadow of himself retreated back to check on a ghostly Jessica. The recording continued to speed backwards many times faster than the time the events had really taken. Kingsley watched their group and a larger group of arguing Unspeakables before them in only a few seconds and only slowed the rewinding recording when he saw the ghostly potion on the floor retreating back into reforming shattered glass vials and the cart seemingly melting back into its original shape. The door opened and a ghostly figure staggered backwards through it, stumbling straight through the potions mess on the ground as he settled himself into the bed nearest the door and the now fully standing and repaired cart and began to spew potions back into potion vials. Reaching a point where the figure laid back in bed and closed its eyes Kingsley set the recording to play forward at regular speed with a flick of his wand.

As the blurriness of the speeded rewind and low quality general viewing cleared to reveal the ghostly figure in the nearest bed more clearly Kingsley nearly gasped as he recognized the face of a boy that even with a now shaved head possessed an uncanny likeness to the late James Potter, marred only by the lightning bolt scar on his forehead.


	3. Chapter Two

A/N if the world was a perfect place and if inspiration came consistently, then this would really just be a continuation of chapter one. However, because it didn't come to me when I was writing that it has now been relegated to the lowly status of chapter two. (and no I'm not sure that makes sense either). This story will be drawing a bit of inspiration from the movie K-pax. For all of you who don't know what that is you might want to go see it; it's not actiony or adventury, but it is interesting and makes you wonder (that isn't to say my story will be without action or adventure). For those of you who are familiar with the story you need not worry that harry will end up catatonic.

Again this is coming out a lot later than I thought it would. I had half the chapter written the day after last post and it just sat on my computer mocking me. So maybe I'll do better, maybe not. You probably shouldn't expect any more frequent than once a week… if we're lucky.

Chapter Two

Albus Dumbledore was born July 16th 1853 and today, despite his best efforts and a large quantity of sherbet lemons, he was feeling all 143 of his years. He sighed softly as one of the small silver instruments on his desk chimed and released a small tendril of smoke that curled in upon itself to form the words _KINGSLEY SHACKLEBOLT_, before unfurling and twisting into a series of numbers counting down. When the numbers reached ONE Albus called out and, at the sound of his voice, the smoke dispersed leaving an innocent looking silver trinket once again. "Enter Kingsley." Kingsley burst into the office with much less decorum than he would normally display, and Dumbledore couldn't suppress another sigh. "What has happened now?"

"Dumbledore! It's the boy. It's Potter, he woke up."

OOO

Dumbledore leaned back in his chair considering the pensive before him and the memories it contained, ignoring for the moment the impatient Kingsley, waiting for Dumbledore's response to the memories within. "Why would he drink the potions? The rest I understand, but why drink unknown potions, especially in such quantity?"

The question wasn't directed at anyone in particular and was more musing than truly seeking an answer from anyone; however, Kingsley had an answer. "I asked the same question, and Jessica had an idea that I think holds merit, especially if the stories about the boy were even half true. You see Jessica's the youngest Auror on the force, just got her Red Robes last month, and she said that whenever she was sick in Hogwarts and she had to sleep in the hospital wing, Poppy Pomfrey would leave out any potions she needed to take on the night stand. So she could take them immediately upon waking the next morning, when they are most effective. She thought, and we agree, that he probably wasn't functioning at his best when he woke, and that he automatically took the potions, believing he was meant to." Kingsley waited with an expectant look to see how Dumbledore would respond to their theory.

Dumbledore cocked his head to the side considering, before his beard twitched and he gave Kingsley a look that despite his own 57 years could only be described as grandfatherly and made him feel slightly giddy. "That, my dear boy, seems to be a most likely reason." Shacklebolt missed how quickly Dumbledore's seeming good cheer faded back into a tired countenance as he tried desperately not to blush and smile at the praise as he would when he was a shy student at Hogwarts many decades past. "So young Harry woke from soullessness to imbibe more than a dozen vials of experimental potions before he lost the ability to continue drinking them, then he stumbled from the room, spilling the cart of the remaining potions in the process and slowing any response the Department of Mysteries might have made. Then he somehow made his way to the one room and one doorway in all of the Department he could use to leave completely undetected." Dumbledore paused in his recitation to throw a piercing look at Kingsley, as if he could, with a look, draw out all details that had been missing. "Seems entirely too contrived to have happened all by coincidence."

"Are you saying someone helped him? Because the recordings didn't detect anyone else, and I don't know of any spell, cloak, or enchantment that those recorders can't pierce."

"Someone? No. Something… perhaps." Dumbledore said with more of his usual mysterious air than Kingsley had heard him use in some time. In fact, Dumbledore's eyes were twinkling, something that had been exceedingly rare since the sentencing of the boy.

Kingsley resisted the urge to roll his eyes and despite his slight confusion he chose not to try and pry any more answers from Dumbledore about this _something _that supposedly guided the boy through the Department of Mysteries. Asking instead, "You said he made his way to the only door he could use to leave, but he passed through the veil. Doesn't that kill anyone who passes through it?"

"Kill anyone that passes through it? Goodness, no. You yourself have probably passed through it dozens, if not hundreds, of times in your life." At Kingsley's confused and questioning look Dumbledore explained. "Perhaps if I use different words you shall be able to put it together. The veil was created long ago as a _portal_ to all space, someone who steps through it has an equal chance of appearing anywhere in this universe. Now that is less than helpful when more than ninety-nine percent of the universe are places where a wizard could not survive and an even smaller percent of the universe is somewhere a wizard might want to be. So the wizards of long ago also developed an enchantment that acted as a _key_ to this _portal_ so that they could tether themselves to a certain point in the universe so that when they traveled through the veil they would go to that point. Also long ago the veil was made into a form of punishment, if a witch or wizard did something that deserved death they would be sent through the veil without a tether and it would be left up to fate whether they would survive or not, however, because the chance of survival was literally one in infinity a jaunt through the veil became synonymous with death." Dumbledore smiled benignly at Kingsley as he waited for him to put all the pieces together.

It didn't take long. "Port Keys! Port keys use the veil to transport people. But even so, Harry had no key, no tether, wouldn't it be just the same for him: an infinitely small chance of survival."

"Ah, but you forget that something which guided him through the Department of Mysteries and to the veil, that something that unless I am very much mistaken tethers him not only to earth but to a very specific fate. I believe he has been sent through the portal to the best place for him to accomplish his destiny, nothing less."

Kingsley furrowed his brow, he knew from the twinkling smile that Dumbledore was giving him that he expected Kingsley to be able to piece together the various tidbits and clues into an answer. "The Prophesy. The Prophesy is guiding him and protecting him."

Dumbledore smiled that smile that made Kingsley want to blush again. "Yes, the Prophesy. Young Harry is what we call a nexus of magic, an object or, in this case, a person about whom a great deal of conflicting magics are brought together. He had the protection of his mother's which made it impossible for Voldemort to harm him, and the protection of the Prophesy that made it impossible for anyone else to kill him. Add to that the negative dark magics from Voldemort's attempted murder upon him and all he has suffered through since, then finally the effect of a… failed dementor's Kiss, and many untested and unstable experimental potions within his system. Wherever young Harry is now I do believe we can expect to see him again before this all ends."

OOOOOOOOOOOOOO

"So who is he?" Patrick Young asked the nurse standing beside him. Both were standing at the one way window that showed the main room of the Minnesotan State Psychiatric Hospital, and both were gazing at the huddled figure of a frail old man in a wheelchair near the far window.

"We really have no idea. They were going to give him a bed in some corner as they believed he was completely catatonic at first, but he has shown some signs of awareness, so there is hope that he may wake up from whatever was done to him." Mandy Wright said glancing away from the huddled figure to gauge the reaction of Dr. Young.

"Done to him?" Doctor Young asked half curious, half dreading the answer.

"Well we're not certain what was done or why exactly, but when they found him his system was so filled with drugs that they had to pump his stomach and give him several transfusions of clean blood to save his life."

"So he was a druggy and overdosed finally." Patrick couldn't help but feel a little bit of contempt for someone who would do so much damage to their own body.

"The doctors at the hospital don't think so." At the questioning and prodding look from the doctor she continued, "They say that his system was so flooded with so many different drugs that they originally thought it was a suicide attempt, but then they had his blood and stomach contents analyzed and they say they only have names for about half the chemicals they were able to isolate. That and they think they missed a number of the chemicals." She paused and gave the doctor a look that clearly said 'I don't know either' before continuing. "And they say that he can't be more than 18 years old. The drugs had a rather deleterious effect on his body, even after they removed as much as they could; in the time he has been here his physical appearance has aged from mid forties to this, what physically looks like an eighty or ninety year old man."

"Goodness, really? How long has he been here that you've been able to observe such a change?" Dr. Young tried to appear only a little surprised and interested, instead of disturbed and a little fearful.

"He's been here a little over a month. They called you in because yesterday he thanked the orderly when he was given his meds. We think he may respond to the counseling that you might give him."

Dr. gave her a sidelong look as he continued to watch the seemingly old man. "Right, well show him into my office when he's ready."

OOO

"Hello again, my name is doctor Young. Can you tell me your name?" Dr. Young spoke in that patented patronizing tone people used when speaking to the incredibly slow, in this case he spoke this way to cover his discomfort. He was still uncomfortable around the man even after several sessions where he had spoken at him for hours before giving it up as a bad job. He no longer expected any sort of answer, as he had the first time, instead the man always just sat and stared with dead eyes that made Patrick want to take a shower. Despite the fact that it was illogical and baseless he still felt on edge.

"We had no names." Dr. Young nearly fell out of his seat, this being the first time he had gotten any response at all. He was surprised by both the smooth tones that didn't at all hint at the past months of silence, and the directness of the response. Before Dr. Young had managed to collect himself from the surprise of the response the man's gaze returned from where it had wandered to pin him to his seat. "We had ranks though. I was Greatest." Patrick was stumped by this and the clear sound of the capital letter in the title. He didn't know any ranking of any sort that was merely Greatest; people loved words and titles too much to make it that simple. "Greatest taken. Greatest held." His eyes had taken on a light that froze him to his seat and made him dearly wish for escape of any sort. "I was Fear, and among Fears I was Greatest."

The old man slumped in his seat resuming the listless position he had shown in all the other counseling sessions and the light in his eyes that had frozen Dr. Young to his seat was suddenly gone. Patrick hadn't even been aware of the old man straightening up and taking on an air of command and power, only noticing it now as it left him.

"I think that is all that we'll do today." Dr. Young glanced at the door, behind the man who showed no sign of having heard him or any attempt to respond, and couldn't help but wonder for an instant if he could make it in time; before what, he knew not.

OOO

"I just don't think it is advisable for me to be seeing him again. I will happily hand off all my notes to any other doctor you want to see him, but I won't be seeing that man again." Dr. Young was flushed and flustered and trying to hide his embarrassment at the fact that he was, frankly, terrified of his patient. Who fittingly enough called himself the Greatest Fear.

"Doctor Young, whatever happened, I'm sure we can find a way to work around it, you have only seen him four times now and you said he never said anything before today. What could possibly put you off this so soon?"

Patrick hesitated a moment, trying to decide if it was worth it to admit he was afraid of him if it would end the conversation here.

"I don't know who he was or what he did, but from those few sessions I have gotten enough hints that I don't ever want to answer those two questions…" He paused for a moment, trying to impress his meaning upon the nurse. "Or be there when they are answered." When it still appeared she didn't understand he elaborated, "That man terrifies me, when he looks at me I feel like – like the happiness is being forced from me. Like all I will ever know is a paralyzing terror. I freely admit that that man makes me want my mother like nothing else ever has." And with that he left the hospital for his offices in town, hoping desperately that they wouldn't call him back until that man had moved on.


	4. Chapter Three

A/N So I am not entirely certain if the pace the story has had so far will continue or if things will settle down a bit in the near future and the actual action of the story will begin to take place at a more novel like pace. Thanks for reading and if you have any question or comments please review.

Chapter Three

He sat at the window, as he had every day since he had arrived here. He didn't like looking at people, because when he saw them he could feel their fear more strongly, and most of the people that stayed here had so much fear; the fear was why they were here, it made them feel strange or do strange things and they were called crazy and locked up here. It was stronger if he looked at them, even stronger still if he looked them in the eye. So he sat in his chair and stared out the window trying to resist the temptation to take that fear for his own.

The Instinct to take that fear for himself, to twist it to his own uses and magnify it was so strong; to make them cower around him and feel his dominance. It seemed all he did these days was to resist that temptation that was so consuming and all present he could think of little else. He knew that the pills they gave him made it better; they dampened the feeling of the fear around him, making it harder to sense and easier to ignore and suppress.

He remembered a few things from Before, but they were so fragmented and strange that he could make no sense of the memories. The longer he stared out the window the more things seemed to come back though. It felt as if he was standing in the center of a violent ocean and his memories were buckets of dirt that he tried to dump beneath him to create an island to stand upon, but his shelter in the storm was being eroded away as quickly as he could make it by The Instinct. He knew that if he failed to create a strong enough shelter of his memories that he would fall into the sea of Instinct and be drowned by it. Slowly, however, so slowly, in fact, that it seemed almost impossible to tell, the storm seemed to be losing power; he was getting better at resisting The Instinct. As The Instinct became easier to resist he was able to remember better and his island could grow.

He remembered meeting the doctor, though he couldn't remember his name despite being told it several times. He remembered thinking he could resist The Instinct and wanting to ask for help. He had wanted to say that he felt confused, that his memories were all over the place, and that he couldn't remember things long because he had to focus on fighting the Instinct. He hadn't said that though, he had looked into the man's eyes and he had seen his fear. The Instinct had been so much stronger as the fear had been of him, and it had won out for precious moments. The heady feeling of control and power had been addicting, as he made that fear grow and consume, overwhelming all his other emotions. Ever since then it had been harder than ever to resist the temptation to use the fear of those around him.

So he sat in the corner of the room staring out the window, desperately hoping he could resist The Instinct. Hoping that maybe if he built his island of memories large and strong enough that the storm of the instinct would not be able to reach him at all at its center. He didn't know if he could last long enough against The Instinct to step out from beneath its shadow, but he hoped, and that was all he could do. Hope and desperately scrabble at the control of himself that always seemed just out of reach.

He twitched as he felt one particular patient pass closer to him, the cloying, suffocating feel of his abnormally powerful fear clawing at the Instinct. He felt tremors move along his arms and make his hands shake as he wrestled with the instinct to pull upon the man's fear. No matter how hard he tried to push the Instinct away it seemed no more effective than if he had tried to push away the winds of a storm with his hands. All while he tried to suppress the Instinct the man's fear crashed against his senses, mocking and enticing him in all the wrong ways. Desperately he wished he could suppress the man's fear as he couldn't the Instinct. Suppress the man's fear instead of magnify it. He snatched at the thought and the hope it brought.

He relented to The Instinct, riding it out; allowing the Instinct to stretch his will out to the man's fear, and just as it was about to grasp that fear and magnify it he tore back control and tried desperately to suppress the fear with his own will. However, fear was itself an emotion of suppression and overwhelming, and even as he tried to destroy it and push it away it gained strength just as if he were to allow the Instinct free reign to magnify it. It seemed that his hopes were for naught as his grasp on himself and the other's fear was weakening and he knew soon he would lose control. His hopes were fleeing him and he couldn't help but fear what he might do. Without hope he was afraid.

Hoping with all his might that it might work and he wasn't just grasping at straws, he reached out with the very hope he felt and fueled him at the moment and instead of trying to grab the fear of the other man with his will he tried to smother it with his hope.

It worked, but not as he expected. The hope slid through and around the fear unaffected by it and ineffectual in stopping it but when it reached the core of the man his emotions flared and his own hope rose up in response. Although it didn't diminish the fear the man felt, it did create a balance, and when he looked away from the window and into the man's eyes the Instinct was quiet. The fear was still there but it existed in balance, at least temporarily, with the hope. He realized for the first time that his instinct had never been to merely magnify fear, but to seek out imbalance between hope and fear and magnify that imbalance towards fear. It had been so bad here because he was always surrounded by those who weren't in control of themselves, the insane, the mad… the unbalanced.

As he gazed into the eyes of the slightly stunned man he smiled as he realized these things and his own hope for the future swelled. He knew he was now more balanced than he had been since he had woken to the Instinct; he felt now that resisting it would not be so hard in the future.

A/N much shorter than I thought when I started but I like where it is right now and I have a good idea of where I want to pick up next and it doesn't follow this scene well. So until next time. Please review and tell me what you think.


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